Running Away
by Supernaturelle
Summary: Just a little oneshot, Deancentric. Enjoy! T for tiny bit of language


A/N: Just a little oneshot, co-written by me and Lucy (her original idea). Bit of Dean Angst, hope you all enjoy! _Italics_ indicate Dean's thoughts.

**Running Away**

"Stop right there. I swear, son, if you leave now you'd better not come back."

"Goodbye then. Have a nice fucking life..."

The door slammed behind Michael as he stormed out, almost getting run over by a black '67 Chevy Impala as he ran across the road.

The car squealed to a halt a few metres away.

"Are you okay?" Sam was halfway out of the car before he saw the boy was unhurt. It took two steps towards him to see the tears running down the kid's face, mixing with the steady drizzle that had just started to fall.

"Can you give me a lift?" asked the boy quietly.

"Uh... where to?"

"Anywhere but here. Please."

Dean watched the exchange from his position in the driver's seat, silently cursing his brother's soft heart. _Why can't he just leave this? We're not a cab service for freakin' runaways._

_xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx_

"Thank you so much." The kid was ensconced in the back seat. _Getting the weather all over my upholstery... Damn Sammy and his puppy dog eyes. "Come on, it's cold out, Dean, we can't just leave him there." Next time we damn well can..._

"So, uh, you're running away from home." Dean's tone was curt.

"It's kinda obvious" Sam added kindly, noticing Michael's look of surprise.

"Well, yeah, I guess. Sometimes you just have to walk away. My family is sorta falling apart – I didn't want to get buried in the rubble."

Dean's jaw set like stone. _Selfish little jerk_. "So you just left."

"Had a nice final argument with dad first," replied the kid bitterly. "'If you leave, don't come back,' you know? He's not even original – I bet he got it off some TV show."

There was a waver in the last bitter statement that bordered on... hysteria? panic? Sam couldn't quite place it. " What did you argue about?" he asked softly, sympathetically. Dean glanced at his younger brother. How could Sammy soft-pedal this little squirt?

"He always wants things his way," came Michael's resentful reply. "I had to join football, not basketball, because_ he_ used to be a football champ. He does this to everyone, drove my mom away... He has this ridiculous obsession with his work, barely notices anything else that's going on. And I finally got a college offer, a chance to get out of this damn town, and he says he won't pay for it. He wants me to go to the local college, doesn't want us to _lose touch._ As if he's actually communicated with me in the last 5 years..."

"I can't believe you're listening to this crap, Sammy" muttered Dean under his breath. He addressed Michael venomously: "How exactly is running away going to help you? Your dad cares about you, whether or not you want to believe it. You're not escaping your family, you're just tearing it apart even more. It's a coward's way out."

"Woah. Dean – what's got into you?" Sammy's voice interrupted his rant, calmed him down. Dean glanced at his brother's shocked expression and quickly turned his attention back to the road.

"Nothing. Forget it," he muttered, realizing exactly how harsh what he'd just said must have sounded. "Uh... sorry, kid. Not my business." _He might stop talking about this now, and God, that would be a relief. Sammy's starting to sound like a damn guidance counselor._

Dean's hopes were shattered as Sam broke the awkward silence, completely ignorant of the telepathic messages that Dean was furiously trying to send him. "Hey, kid, I get it. I ran away from home four years ago." _Come _on_, for Christ's sake, you're meant to be a freakin' psychic. Shut _up_, Sammy. We drop the kid off, he runs out of cash and sobs off home. End of story._

"Had an argument with my dad too, he told me never to come back if I was gonna go." _For crying out loud..._

"I couldn't sleep for a week afterwards." Dean's mind did a silent double-take as he heard that last statement. _Seriously? He never told me that... _

Honestly shocked, Dean glanced over at his brother. Sam was staring expressionlessly out the window, watching the road passing under the wheels of the car, studiously avoiding eye contact.

"Started my new life, wondering every day how he was, was my family ok – if I'd even find out if something went wrong. You can keep going like that for a good long while, but not forever."

_Missed you too, Sammy._

"Both of us were too proud to pick up the phone."

_Damn right. Same side of the same coin. Both of you were so pig-headed, forced me to choose. I couldn't keep running back and forth between you, taking messages across the great divide. It would only have got harder when you were hundreds of miles off. I had to choose, and don't think it was painless. _

"And now he's dead, and there's a hell of a lot I want to say. I've realised why we argued – well, parts of it. I wanted his approval and I wanted him to be perfect. It's a lot to expect from anyone, especially someone who's been through as much as my dad has. Had."

_I'm not gonna cry. Deal with it, Dean for chrissakes..._

Dean wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. _Watch the road, watch the road..._

"I guess I'm saying, don't be too ready to give up on your father. In a week or so, he'll probably be so worried about you he'll have forgotten about the whole thing." Sam turned to face Michael and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

"Or be blaming himself," added Dean. "Actually, that was about two weeks in."

Sam glanced Deanwards. "Dad was worried?" he asked. "He at least knew where I was."

"And you had no way of getting in touch if you were worried?" Dean shot back, raw hurt and accusation in his voice. And immediately silence settled in the car. An oppressive silence that left his last words drifting around the empty space, and that had more effect on Dean than any response Sam could have made.

_Shit. Same old argument yet again. But everything's so different now. We used to argue about what we'd do when we met Dad again. Now he's gone. And Jesus Christ, could I be any harsher if I fucking _tried?After a slight pause, Dean cleared his throat and proceeded to do what he did best when conversations got too involved – completely change the subject.

"So Michael, what are your plans? Got money?"

"Enough for a motel room, for a week maybe? I just got my pay." A naïve pride sounded in his voice.

"In which case," Dean pulled over the car in a motel forecourt, "this might be a good place to drop you. Clean sheets, hot receptionist, pretty close to home. Just in case you find you can stand going back." The habitual sardonic note in his voice had returned as if it had never been absent.

"There's also a lot of through traffic, if you wanna hitchhike further." Sam's tone was neutral.

_Great advice Sammy. He won't last five minutes before he gets rained out and runs for the bus home... Oh. Maybe you're not so dumb sometimes."_

Michael got out of the car without protest. Dean watched him out the rearview mirror as he wandered exhaustedly up to reception. An unspoken hope crept through his mind that the kid would realize his mistake soon enough. That he would go back before it was too late to fix things. That, unlike another skinny teenage runaway he'd known, Michael and his dad would get another chance – and find a way to make their family work again.

xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx

"Sammy, how far till Howitson Creek?"

"'Bout a hundred."

"By the way..."_I don't think you took a coward's way out. I never thought you were a coward. But I hated you for a while. You left me to deal with the fallout and I resented it. Fell apart a little bit. I don't think like that anymore, but hating you kept me stronger. Once. _"Change the tape."

"Dean."

"Mm?" _I'd trust you with my life, no question. Which worries me because you left, and if you did it again Dad won't be around to pick up the pieces of me that scatter all over the floor._

"Wanna listen to some George Michael? I found a tape."

"Lose it again. It's Metallica time."


End file.
